Ruins of Temptation (Corium University Trilogy 4)

Students start to filter into the room, and my heart leaps every time. Still, Marcel doesn’t appear, and doubt starts to take root in my mind. What if everything that happened before was yet another way of torturing me? For all I know, Marcel is Quinton’s best friend. Was he only pretending so he could get my guard down?

The thought doesn’t remain in my mind long, not when he finally comes walking in. I barely stay seated in my chair. The only thing keeping me there is the fact that I have to pretend not to care. If anyone notices, they might say something to Quinton or Lucas. I need to fly under the radar as long as I can.

When he acts like he’s never set eyes on me, I have to remind myself not to take it personally. He’s only looking out for me. At least, I hope. Plus, I’m sure it wouldn’t do him any favors, letting people know he’s an ally. Just because nobody has come straight out and made a death threat doesn’t mean I’m safe. Sometimes, it’s not the enemy you should fear. It’s the enemy disguised as a friend. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It’s only once he’s sat down and settled in that he finally acknowledges me. “I have something for you,” he mutters from the side of his mouth. His head’s on a swivel, moving back and forth, surveying the room, so all I can do is wait until he thinks it’s safe.

What could it be? A message, maybe? No, it’s better than that. When nobody’s looking, he pulls something from his pocket and reaches over, placing it in my lap. I catch a glimpse of silver and realize it’s a cell phone. “Hide it!” he orders.

I could cry. I’m so happy right now. A cell phone. After being out of touch with the rest of the world for all this time, it’s like he handed me the keys to everything. As soon as nobody’s looking, I whisper back, “Thank you so much.”

He nods slightly but doesn’t offer any other response, either focusing on the instructor or pretending to.

Meanwhile, the phone is burning a hole in my pocket. The urge to escape this room, run into the bathroom, and make a phone call surges through me. I’ll call anyone. I don’t care who.

Except, I don’t have any numbers memorized. It reminds me of my aunt complaining that back in the day, she had to have her friends’ phone numbers committed to memory or written down somewhere. Nowadays, all we have to do is program it into our contacts once, and it’s there forever.

In other words, I’m still kind of screwed.

But it gives me enough hope to get through class feeling a little more like myself. Like a normal person with a way to at least call for help if I ever need it. As class drags on, I find my mind wandering. If I ran away, how far would I need to go before reaching a town with an airport?

Once my excitement cools off, I realize he didn’t answer the question that’s been brewing in my mind since he first came in. Not that he gave me a chance to ask, either.

It isn’t until class is ending that I take a moment to lean in, watching to make sure we aren’t noticed. “Did you get a hold of him?”

“Just use the phone. You’ll see what I’m talking about when you do.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Just do it and never let anybody see it.” Right. Like I would ever do that. Some things I don’t need to be told.

Instead of saying that, I bite my tongue and murmur, “Thanks so much.”

The second we’re able to go, I grab everything and jump out of my chair. There’s no way I’ll be able to wait until I get back to the apartment later to find out what he means by: just use the phone. You’ll see.

It’s not like I’ll be able to concentrate on anything until I do.

Which is why instead of heading straight to my next class, I make a detour to the bathroom. I need to know what he couldn’t tell me. My hands tremble, and excitement bubbles up inside me.

I search the bathroom, checking each stall to be sure there’s no one else inside, which there isn’t. For once, luck is on my side. I duck into the last one, ears trained for any sounds while I power up the phone.

Once the screen lights up, I navigate to contacts, hoping I’ll find something there. Shocked, I discover a number stored, just one.

But it’s the only one I need.

“Preston.” I whisper his name.

I press my finger against his name and then the green call icon, chewing on my bottom lip nervously as the phone rings and rings.